


The Thin Red Line

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-26
Updated: 2006-03-26
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Jack helps as Daniel grieves.





	The Thin Red Line

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Contains reference to Jack/Sara, Daniel/Share.  


* * *

Geeze, what a couple of sad sacks. Me, leaving the base at nine oh five Saturday night on Valentine's Day, and Daniel, face down at the bottom of a canyon of books, asleep in what cannot be a comfortable position. It's not the Valentine's Day aspect of this that makes it sad. And it's not the Saturday night part or the nine-oh-five part either. It's the number of times this exact scene has played out that gets me. 

The truth is, neither of us has had anything to do on Valentine's Day for nearly seven years. Not that there haven't been offers, because there have. Hey, I'm not that bad. It's just that I think Danny and me, we never got over our wives. I know for sure I haven't. Sometimes I miss Sara like crazy. Still makes a hole in my chest when I think how I was to her. Doesn't make it feel better that I tried the best I knew how, it wasn't enough. And Danny? Ever take a look at his desk? He's only got one picture. Sha're. Same with his nightstand. 

So it's officially my job to see that Daniel goes home. Because he doesn't know when to quit, when to let go and because he's my friend.

The script will play itself out like this: I'll wake him up in some annoying way; he'll give me crap; I'll invite him to eat; he'll say no; then after some bickering he'll say yes; we'll meet at one of our places and one of us will wake up on the sofa. Like clockwork.

Waking him up is the fun part cause he's just too easy. The third wad of paper hits him in the head, three for three, and he's up and blinking. There's a really nice imprint of his sleeve up the side of his face that totally cracks me up. Blinking is followed by the annoyed eye roll and its close cousin, the snort. He whines, I juggle paper, he stares, I invite him to eat, he says no, I say 'that's an order', more snorting, I wait, he says yes. See? Clockwork.

Truthfully, I never met anyone who can be as quiet as Daniel. Sometimes he beats T for sheer introspection. There's no traffic on the way to my place, making it only forty minutes from locker room to living room, and in that time he's said...squat. Normally this would be fine by me, I'm usually complaining he talks too much. But the whole 'sad sack' thought from earlier is scratching at me. This is not something I'm comfortable with. Granted, Daniel is the one person I'm willing to have those thoughts about, but dealing with Daniel's emotions? That's where we get into trouble. 

But this kind of quiet, this dark, frozen flat quiet, it's scaring me, because it's times like this I can see what this has cost him. How eroded he's become. Oh, man, it's time for beer and the sanity of inebriation, time for Danny and me to get shit faced. Rolling Rock is my therapist, no Doc MacKenzie need apply... 

Two medium everything pizzas and eight beers later, the world is looking a lot blurrier but not a lot happier. Daniel's been quiet again. This time for nearly twenty minutes. I think he's almost asleep when I hear him sigh and begin to talk about his wife. His face is a mask of old pain, mouth barely moving, a finger brushing the lip of his fourth beer bottle. Why did I think being drunk would make this easier? I fall for that every time, damn it. 

It isn't the words that make me hurt, it's watching what it does to Daniel. Three years later and he's as brittle inside as the day he lost her. His words come out rough and low, but there are no tears. He's done talking for a full minute before I realize it and I find myself at the maudlin stage, and that's a place I really hate. Because regrets are painful and ultimately useless and because thinking about 'what if' is a freakin' waste of time. I don't miss feeling sorry or heartbreak or loneliness. Not until I see Daniel like this, then it pretty much rips me up. So we do this dance of grief. We drink, he talks, I listen. Soon he'll lay his head back and close his eyes. I'll pull him off the chair and drag him to the guest room where he'll sleep in his clothes and wake up feeling like shit. 

Seven years is a long time so even if I did find someone, I'm not sure I could love again. And by the look on Daniel's face, I know it's the same for him. We've lost more, given more, hurt more, died more than I thought could ever be possible. No, we're done, we have each other and that'll have to be enough. 

Time for bed. Daniel's boneless after four beers and emotional exhaustion. Damn, getting him through the house gets harder every year. And that's a thought I never would have admitted to before. 

Yeah, we're a couple of sad sacks, me and Daniel. We deserve more but that's just not in the cards for us. 

Not with the whole world hanging in the balance. No, make that the whole Galaxy.

They used to call it the thin red line. It means the first ones. The first line of defense against the enemy. The one's on the beachhead. And that would be us. 

Just wish it didn't cost so damn much. 

end


End file.
